Revenge Is Sweeter Than You Ever Were
by paschiel
Summary: "You don't remember me, do you?" "Should I?" "I'd think so . . . You murdered me, honey, don't you remember? But not before making sure every relative of mine was dead first. Saved me for last - how . . . /courteous/. I must return the favor, Nico . . .  How would you like to die?" - Nico/OC pairing. Written for the Original Cliche Challenge on Veritaville.
1. Prologue

**Revenge is Sweeter Than You Ever Were**

**...**

**PROLOGUE**

Meghan Carter bent her head into her chest as far as her scarf would allow, trying to shield her bare cheeks from the harsh, cold wind, and attempted to pull her cheap, raggedy coat tighter around her body. When she failed she cursed loudly, ignoring the dirty looks she received from her fellow pedestrians. Frankly, she thought that they should be more concerned with their lives than with what was coming out of her mouth, considering the fifty-six percent chance that she could get attacked by a three-headed monster any minute, pedestrians getting caught in the crossfire.

She shook her head slightly and rolled her eyes, annoyed at the direction her thoughts had taken and continued to push through the blizzard that had declared war on Chicago for the last few days. _This is so stupid, _she thought. _Why did a blizzard have to attack Chicago _now_?_

The next few blocks were torture. The cold wind bit at what exposed skin it could find, and her hands, gloves forgotten in her desk at work, were freezing in her coat's silk pockets. Needless to say, when she looked up and realized that she was almost at her small brownstone house, she wanted to drop to her knees and give thanks to the gods. Of course, that would only make colder . . .

She smiled slightly, opened her black gate, and pounded up the steps to her house. She stomped the snow off of her shitkickers and rooted around for her keys in her tote bag while thinking, _I need new boots._

When she found her house key she shoved it into the lock. Her hands shook with cold and as soon she opened the door, she launched her body into the house and slammed the door shut. She dropped her bags by the door and felt the familiar warmth of her house welcome her.

She was turning back to her door, ready to lock it when she felt something moving behind her. Feet. Brushing against the carpet. She froze, hand on the doorknob, frightened. Someone was in her house.

_No, _she realized. Not just _someone_. This was _him_. It had to be. In that moment her heart raced as sheer panic and fear hit her. Her palm felt sweaty on the doorknob and she felt like her knees were going to give out. She swallowed.

"Meghan, Meghan, Meghan . . ."

His voice was soft, almost kind, but she wasn't fooled. There was evil underneath that glossy exterior. Hatred. Anger. Death. Sickness. Shadows. He was the definition of evil. He was things of nightmares, that raw form of evil that you didn't understand until you witnessed it firsthand. _Like father like son_, she thought.

_No_. She swallowed and closed her eyes. _This wasn't happening_.

"Nico, Nico, N-nico . . . ?" Fear gave in and she stuttered over her words. Her stomach muscles tightened and she thought she was going to be sick. She gripped the doorknob and fought the urge to run. She shook her head slightly as her tears betrayed her and slipped down her cheeks.

"Look at me," he commanded and, when she didn't move, she felt a hand clamp down hard on her shoulder and his lips were at her ear. "Look at me," he repeated.

She shuddered and fear traveled through her body as the hand tightened on her shoulder and his voice grew more frustrated. Angry. Pissed off. _Just__ do it_, she told herself. Just move. And she did.

It was slowly and required every muscle in her body. She commanded her eyes to open and her legs to move as she turned in a small circle, back against the wooden door, ramrod straight. The weight of his hand disappeared from her shoulder. She stared at the floor. He wore black boots, she saw, and black jeans as well.

"Look at me," he commanded once more. She shook her head stubbornly and raised a hand to wipe away the tears trickling down her cheeks and onto her chin. He stopped her, grabbing her wrist with his hand and pressing it back against the door, hard. He was cold. So cold.

"Fine." His words were cold, full of hate and frustration. He seemed to growl and then he pushed his fingers under her chin and forced her to look at him.

He would have been beautiful, she thought, if he didn't have so much hellfire inside. That was what made him ugly. His cheekbones were high and it appeared that there were shadows under them. He had two piercings; one in his lip and one in his eyebrow. His hair was raven-black and messy, standing up in places. And his eyes . . . Oh, gods, his eyes . . . They were framed by dark lashes, black and filled with hate and disdain. All directed at her. She felt like she was looking into the abyss, staring at death itself.

She squeezed her eyes shut and she heard him laugh, satisfied, as he dropped her chin. There was the sound of a blade being unsheathed and she flinched, holding back a whimper. She had heard of his blade, the rumors of things he had done with it, who and what he had killed. It was three feet of Stygian iron and pure physical power. Abruptly she wondered if he had used it on any of her friends or family members. If he had, then she thought it fitting that he used it on her as well.

She wanted it to be quick, she realized. She had never wanted to die painfully or slowly. She had always imagined she would die in battle from a monster or go in her sleep, both quick ends for her. She had always hated pain. Yes, she thought. Quickly was the best way to go.

She deserved it. So many people had died because of her, because of her stupid mistakes. And she had just kept running, constantly moving and hoping that she wouldn't be next. She was a bitch. A coward. Yes. That was what she was. She was a soulless coward who was willing to let other people die for her. _Had_ let them die for her for nearly six years.

She disgusted herself.

"Do it," she said hoarsely. "Get it over with." There was silence and then she said, "I want it over."

"_I want it over_," she whispered again, more to herself than to Nico, the words holding much more meaning than before.

And it was true, she realized. Completely and utterly true. She hadn't tried fighting him. She hadn't tried escaping. She hadn't tried using any of the skills she had learned so long ago at Camp Half-Blood to defend herself. She hadn't because, now that she was here, staring death in the face, she realized she didn't care. She didn't care if she died.

She wanted out, if anything else. Out of that horrible pit of guilt, depression, and self-hatred she was thrown into every time she discovered one of her friends, family murdered and knew that he had done it. That he had done it to get revenge on her. _Years, _she thought. Years of effort on his part and years of self-loathing and disgust on her part. Years of deranged killings, hatred, anger . . . all leading up to this moment. If she didn't die now, then what would her parents, sisters, brothers have died for?

Depression and hatred coiled in her stomach. She hated Nico di Angelo. He had destroyed her life all because of mistakes, made years ago. She breathed out and the tears, having stopped momentarily, picked up again.

_It's all your fault. It always has been, always will be. _It was her fault.

"Do it," she whispered, almost begging him.

The blade came down and it was all over.


	2. Problems and Promises

**Revenge is Sweeter Than You Ever Were**

**PROBLEMS AND PROMISES**

**...**

**CHAPTER ONE**

_Set three years after prologue._

Hades sighed and leaned forward, putting his whole weight on the marble of his bathroom sink. He stared into the mirror and smiled, completely content with the turn of events, though not terribly surprised. Ares' mind and will were squishy, like clay, and he was a war monger. All Hades had had to do – after working his way around the other gods, which had been tricky – was whisper a few magic words in Ares' ear, make a few suggestions, and he had bent. It was perfect. _Everything _was -

A knock sounded on Hades' bedroom chamber door and then a scratchy voice said, "My lord."

Hades positively growled, annoyance radiating off of him, heating the air. He didn't move from his position in the bathroom. "Come in," he barked out, attempting to make his face blank, cool, and confident. His subordinates needed to know that they were exactly that - subordinates. They needed to know that he was in charge of them _and _himself.

He heard the door open and then a skeleton appeared in the bathroom doorway. Hades straightened and turned his gaze on him and felt proud that he recognized this particular one. He called him G. A god of his power couldn't be bothered with learning then names of silly skeletons. "Speak."

"We have encountered a problem, my lord." G was practically shaking with fear and Hades took great pleasure in the fact. He _should _be frightened. Still, the dumb thing was taking a grand old time getting to the point.

"What? What is the problem?"

A thousand scenarios ran through his head, chased by solutions to the problems, what he could do to fix everything, make the day perfect again. He was foolish though. He hadn't considered the one scenario that was most deadly, that would wreck his plan, waste years of effort. He had thought that phase of his plan was complete, locked down, airtight, ready to go, but he had been premature and cocky.

"Zachariah and Nico have disappeared."

Hades heart stopped beating. His face contorted into something cruel and awful. His hands grabbed blindly at the counter sink and squeezed it hard.

The marble crumbled in his hands.

"What?" he hissed. His breath came in ragged gasps and he turned his head to the skeleton. "_What_?" Twenty years of careful planning, getting everything just right and then _this? _The one thing he thought he had secured; the one thing that he had thought was fail-safe had wrecked his whole plan.

He gripped onto what was left of the sink and whipped his head around to G, not caring if he saw the maniac expression on his face, the fact that he was completely unhinged. This was _unacceptable_.

"My l-lord... If I may sug-suggest-"

"_What?"_

"Jordan Carter, my lord."

* * *

Nico breathed out, closing his eyes slowly and trying to ignore the ache in his chest. It wasn't new, the ache. It had been there for years, ever since Lydia had died. He had expected it to heal, to finally feel normal again, after he had killed Meghan Carter. But nothing had changed. If anything the aching had just gotten worse.

He sighed and walked through the rows of graves, careful not to step on any of them. It was weird that, after twenty or so years, he still couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that these people were all in the Underworld now and he was their prince, their lord. He had control over every one of them. They bowed down to him.

_Yeah, right._

He rolled his shoulders back, trying to ease the tension, and stopped in front of the grave he had been looking for. The headstone was simple white marble with a name and a date on it. _Lydia Garfield, _it read. There were flowers covering the grass, some old and withering, others new and fresh.

All from him.

He carried a flower now in his hands, a red rose. She had liked roses. She'd told him so once. He closed his eyes and chided himself. _This is stupid. You're the son of Hades and you're going to talk to a grave, you idiot. _And, despite the fact that he felt foolish, he was still there, still holding that flower, not walking away.

He sighed and ran a hand over his face in frustration. He _knew _it was stupid. He knew it was pointless to come and sit by a grave for hours but he couldn't _stop_. He'd been doing it for two years and it had become a ritual that Nico couldn't end.

He cast a look around the cemetery. It was empty so, still feeling foolish, he lowered himself to the ground and sat cross legged. He felt awkward sitting there in the graveyard at night, holding a flower in his hands. He shouldn't be there. It wasn't right. It was out of his character. He was a son of Hades. He dealt with death every day. Hell, he _was _death. This shouldn't have fazed him at all.

And yet it had.

Nico groaned and dropped his head into his hands. Suddenly Lydia's name became wavy, his vision blurry, and then tears rolled down his cheeks. Gods was he was weak.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there next to the grave, despairing, rose thorns digging into his palm. Soon the tears stopped and he was just rocking back and forth, a motion that he thought nothing of but repeated, over and over again. He didn't think, just sat there.

He felt like he was twelve years old again, staring into space, doing the same thing he was now but calling out for Bianca. She had never answered him, not until Percy had been with him and called to her. He had talked to her a few times after that but now he never did. And he had never tried contacting Lydia.

Sometime later he unwrapped his arms from around himself and raised his head. He looked around. It was pitch black. _It must be three A.M., _he thought_. _

He was exhausted. It wasn't just his body, wasn't only physical. This was mental. He felt old. He felt like he was being pulled and stretched. He was twenty-eight and yet he had seen most of the world. Death, rage, anger, depression - he'd seen it all, _lived _it. He ran his hand over his face again and tried to banish the thoughts. He didn't want to think.

Nico sighed and threw the rose onto Lydia's grave. His hands bled from where the thorns had been crushed in his palm. He shook his head. _You've got to stop this_. He needed to stop coming here and get his life back.

He laughed bitterly and it was unnaturally loud in the silence. What life had he had? It had been consumed by the need to get his revenge on Meghan, filled with killing and a maniac rage.

And now? Now that he had his revenge? What did he have to show for it? What was the purpose? Where was the logic? There _wasn't _any. Everything he had done was controlled by anger and hatred, wanting to get back at the girl who had taken Lydia from him years ago. He had wanted to make Meghan Carter feel everything he was feeling; the depression, the hatred, the self-loathing, the awareness of how pitiful and weak you are. He had wanted her to suffer because she had made him suffer. Tit for tat.

Nico had ended his quest for his own brand of justice three years ago. And now he had nothing.

He sighed again. That wasn't exactly true. Now he had a war to stop and a brother to keep in check. He closed his eyes. His brother who was a traitor and his father's secret weapon.

_Gods, how did this become so fucked up? _

He shook his head. That wasn't something he was tackling tonight. Not something he was willing to think about at the moment. Unfortunately, the Fates had other plans.

His cell phone rang.

"Fuck," he muttered as he dug his hands in his pocket for it. He flipped it open. "What?"

"Nico?"

He let out a frustrated sigh. It was Zachariah, his brother he'd found locked up in the Underworld. The one Hades had never thought to mention. _Traitor. _He ignored the voice in his head telling him he was making the wrong move and said, "Zach."

The voice on the other end of the line was hesitant. "We have a problem."

* * *

_Being dead is a bitch_, Jordan Carter thought, looking around the Asphodel Fields. You didn't go to heaven, didn't see pearly white gates. No, on the contrary you saw black gates and walked through security systems and then... you got here. The Asphodel Fields.

Death for people like Jordan was awful. You hadn't done anything remarkable or worth remembrance in your life so you were ushered into a big field with other dead people, all drifting, not talking, left alone to their own thoughts.

And, gods, was it _boring_. Jordan rolled her eyes. The least Hades could do was make death _somewhat _interesting. Throw in a few juggling dead monkeys for entertainment but _no_. You had to stand in a field with a lot of other dead people who's lives had ended without much to show for it.

She sighed and drifted over to Tantalus's Tree, as she had nicknamed it. It sat at the edge of the Fields where Tantalus stood, constantly trying to drink the water below him and eat from the tree above him. He was cursed, never to eat or drink again.

It was amusing.

Jordan smiled as she watched Tantalus raise his hand to get a fruit off the tree and the branch shot up, out of his reach. _Schadenfreude_, she guessed. _Happiness at the pain and suffering of others._

She stood there for hours, bored out of her mind but knowing that this was as good as it was going to get. She had been dead for eight years and had long since realized that she would never change, never age, and the most fun she would have in her day was watching Tantalus try to eat. And, of course, watch his failure with amusement.

Jordan closed her eyes. She would forever be stuck in her twenty-one year old body, though, if she could age, she would be twenty-nine. She had been dead for so long and her days were spent trying to hold onto her humanity even though she could feel it slowly slipping away.

She sighed and let her mind wander to a different topic. She thought of her sister, Meghan. She didn't know what had happened to her, didn't know if she had died or gotten away from Nico di Angelo, dropped off the map and managed to live like she had suggested. She hoped she had followed the advice.

Jordan had never blamed Meghan for the death of her family members. The thought had never occurred to her because Meghan had explained to her while she was alive what had happened with Nico, why he hated her, why he had wanted to get revenge.

If she could have cried, she would have. The Asphodel Fields were large and finding someone who you knew was a one in a billion chance. Once you passed over you weren't likely to see your family and friends again.

But sometimes something amazing happens and you get a stroke of luck. Something that makes the day better and gives you hope, even if it is dim. For Jordan, her hope rested in the fate of a boney skeleton who gave her a message – _Hades had requested an audience with yours truly_. Hardly anyone ever saw Hades and, when stories eventually got around that someone had, said person never came back.

Naturally, she was scared shitless.

Jordan walked along the corridors, following the skeleton in the gray uniform. He didn't speak to her. Hell, he didn't acknowledge that she was there until the duo stopped at a set of wide, black double doors. He opened one door and then stepped to the side.

"He is waiting for you," the skeleton said. Well, that is what Jordan assumed he had said. His voice was gravely, just a grinding of bones against bones. He had no flesh, obviously.

"Thanks, man," Jordan muttered as she passed him.

As she walked through the doors, she gasped. The Lord of the Dead was known for being wealthy but, gods, she had never seen such extravagance in action. The large room was lit by candles and, in the light, Jordan got a clear look of the room. The middle of it was dominated by a large, king-sized bed while the floor around it appeared to be black marble. The walls, though made of a pitch black stone she didn't recognize, appeared to have small gems embedded in it that gleamed when the candlelight flicked over them. There were various toys and trinkets spread around the room and there was a soft glow of light coming from a doorway on the left.

It was beautiful in a creepy way.

"Wow," she whispered. _Well, what'd ya know? The lord of the dead has taste._

"Jordan Carter," a voice said from beside her. She whipped around, hand instinctively going to her waist, grabbing for a weapon that wasn't there. That voice set her on edge, triggered her fight-or-flight instinct.

_Whoa, chica. Self control is an amazing quality._

She let her hand drop away from her waist, it going limp at her side. "Lord Hades," she said, not looking at him. _Best get this over quickly, Jordan. You really wanna be stuck with him for longer than necessary? No? Didn't _think _so. _"You requested an audience with me, my lord?"

_Acquiescent... I'm proud._

Jordan resisted the urge to roll her eyes at her inner monologue and instead forced herself to look up into Hades eyes. She wished she hadn't. They were pitch black. Obsidian. Bottomless. Fear riveted her in place and she just stared. She couldn't think properly.

"So pretty..." he whispered, a cruel smile on his face. He began to raise a hand, perhaps to stroke her face, and that jolted her into action. She brought up her own arm, smacking his away, and shot across the room, her heart racing.

_Bad move there, babe. But don't worry. You're already dead. The worst he can do is torture you._

Hades laughed, throwing his head back. Jordan didn't join in. Eventually his laughter died out and he just stared at her. She began to squirm.

"Don't worry. I have no intentions of hurting you," Hades said in a voice that she assumed was meant to reassure her. It did no such thing. On the contrary, it made her more anxious, more afraid.

"Of c-course not, my lord." She hated the shaking of her voice but she had more important problems like g_etting the hell away from Hades and never, ever going near him again_. Unfortunately, that wasn't her choice to make and all she could do was wait, holding her breath as Hades studied her. Abruptly he jerked away as if he had been stung. _Weird._

"I require a favor of you, Jordan," he said. _I'm dead. Favors are gonna be hard to give, babe._

When he said no more she prompted with, "A favor, my lord?"

"You are to find my sons, Zachariah Moore and Nico di Angelo, and return them to me in a week's time."

She stayed silent, waiting for him to tell her more. _This doesn't make sense._

"In exchange," he paused and he looked at her like he was getting to the punchline of a great joke. "I will restore your life to you. But if you fail, a torturous Hell awaits."


	3. A Deal is Sealed

**Revenge is Sweeter Than You Ever Were**

**A DEAL IS SEALED**

**...**

**CHAPTER TWO**

_This is not happening._

_Something has finally snapped in your brain and you are being delusional. The Underworld has gotten to you . . . Soon you'll return to normal . . . _

_This is not happening._

Despite the voices screaming in her head, Jordan knew that this was very much real. Knew that she was standing in Hade's chamber, staring at him, terrified, as he told her he could give her her life back.

But it _couldn't _be real. It didn't seem possible. When you died, you died and that was that. You went to the Underworld and there you stood, cursed with boredom for eternity. You weren't given a second chance. It just didn't work like that.

_Well_, Jordan thought, _people like me aren't given second chances. _The only ones who were given that chance were those who had something great to live for, something with a purpose, something they went down in _history f_or. They were the people who weren't terrified of Hades or anything he could do to them. They were the brave ones, the ones to admire.

She didn't fit in any of those categories. She was an average demigod, nothing special. In fact she was lower than that. She was a daughter of Aphrodite, shallow and vain, who had been scared as hell in the war. She had practically hid, never the one for physical violence – even if it was against monsters. She was not brave because, really, here she was quaking in fear at the simple _sight _of Hades, when heroes like Percy Jackson would have stood up to him and demanded Hades do as he say. He hadn't even done anything to her yet. Not really. All in all? She did not deserve this chance at life again.

But by the gods she was going to take it.

She might have a guilty conscience but that didn't change a damn thing. She had this chance and she was not passing it up. It was too sweet, too unbelievable. . . and completely unreal. She still expected to wake up. Well, hypothetically. She was dead after all. She felt like smirking. _Not for long._

"Jordan Carter."

Jordan blinked and looked up from the floor, her breath coming out in a rush, one she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Her brown eyes met Hades' black ones and she took an automatic step back, swallowing, still terrified.

"Are you going to answer me, half-blood?"

She nodded and said, "What do you want me to do?"

Hades' eyebrows rose and he smirked at her. He was clearly pleased that she had accepted his request. But, of course, she would do it one way or another, one ending with the ultimate reward and one without.

"My sons, Zachariah Moore and Nico di Angelo – they have disappeared from the Underworld. You are to return them to me in one week's time."

As confusion hit Jordan like a ton of bricks she frowned and wrapped a hand around her waist, a habit she had picked up from her time in the Underworld. "But why can't you just get them-"

"We are on a need-to-know basis, Miss Carter," Hades said sharply, the temperature in the room rising as his voice sliced through the spacious area, fiery eyes glaring back at her. Her eyes went wide and she stopped moving, unsure of what he would do to her for insubordination. After all, the Lord of the Underworld was known for having a temper.

_Need-to-know basis, chica. Need. To. Know. Basis. Got it? Good. Because I am confident that you don't want your ass incinerated._

While attempting to block the voices out of her head, Jordan nodded slowly and then said, "All right. Need-to-know basis . . ." She paused and then continued with, "What do I need to know?"

Hades seemed to like her obedience and smiled at her, though his smile wasn't one of joy. It was cruel and manipulative and gave Jordan goosebumps. She swallowed again and dropped her arms to her sides.

"You will be given proper living facilities while you are searching. You will do nothing other than find them. Nothing else. That will be your priority. Sway from it and you will be sent back to the Underworld, your life taken again and then damned to Fields of Punishment for failing me."

As Hades spoke a million thoughts were running through her head, a thousand questions screaming to get answered. _Where will I find them? What do they look like? Where will I stay? How do I keep hidden from those who know I have died? Can I explain it to them? Can we re-arrange the sending-my-ass-to-the-Fields-of-Punishment part? Might I murder Nico instead?_

But she apparently wasn't going to get answers to those questions anytime soon, unless Hades chose to answer them. _Need-to-know basis_, she reminded herself. She obviously wasn't going to be clued in on much too soon.

Jordan sighed. She was sure that, if possible, she would have had a headache. But she was dead, so that was impossible.

". . . Are you listening to me, Miss Carter?"

"Of course, my lord," she said, looking up at him again. His black eyes were soulless, pitch black. No emotion in their depths. If she didn't despise him and his son, she would have pitied him. She resisted the urge to snort.

_Babe, get your head screwed on properly, all right? Stop being an idiot._

"You are a pitiful liar," Hades said, glaring. She flinched and hoped, albeit in vain, that he hadn't noticed.

"Perhaps, my lord."

"Are you ready?"

Jordan took a breath and tried to examine the situation. She found that she couldn't. It was all too jumbled, a thousand thoughts, opinions, questions, and concerns running through her brain. Only one really stood out to her and that was the oh-so-simple fact that she had to do this. Hades might be putting up a show, pretending as if her opinion really mattered, but it didn't. It never had, never would. She would do this whether she liked it or not and they both knew it.

Her best bet was to take the easy route, the obedient one that ended with a heartbeat, a life.

_Hers._

Jordan nodded slowly, looking up at Hades again, and, as one thought struck her and her courage flared up she said, "If I can be frank, my Lord Hades, I must say that the only way your son is coming back to you is in a body bag."

As she hit the floor she missed the smirk on Hades face.

* * *

Zachariah stretched his arms out, having woken up from his deep sleep by a nagging in the back of his mind. There was something he needed to do . . . He frowned and stood up, his legs aching as he paced the tiny motel. _Skeletons_. Something with skeletons . . .

Then everything hit him with a rush. The last twenty years spent in the Underworld, the war, his betrayal, Nico's screams, Lydia's death, confusion . . . And then being captured, taken back to the Underworld. Nobody that had seen him in the war remembered him anymore. He had been abused, beaten within an inch of his life, and then left alone in the cold fucking Underworld. Six years later his brother had popped up in the cell with him and then . . . they broke out. He couldn't even remember the details, but he knew minor gods had had a role to play, and a skeleton named Henry.

That had been four months ago and Zach was shocked by how much his situation had changed. Now here he was, sitting in a crummy motel room shared by his brother while they figured out what to do about . . .

He rolled his eyes and massaged his temples. Gods, his head ached and his brain didn't appear to be functioning. It was something to do with a war and his father and Kronos and . . . blah. He didn't really care. All that mattered was that he was out and free and could do whatever the hell he wanted.

He frowned, annoyed that his thoughts had gotten so off track. What did he need to do again? Oh, right. _Skeletons_.

Zach closed his eyes and focused on unwinding his muscles one by one, releasing all of the stress in his body. Eventually, when he felt he was ready, he opened his eyes and stared at the floor, focusing all of his will on one thought . . . and then a skeleton in a gray uniform popped up in the living space.

Yes, living space. He was a son of Hades. He could do stuff like that. Making dead things appear in his motel room? Feeling life forces slowly fade as people died and loving it? Summoning the dead using bad Chinese food and soda? Totally up his alley.

Zach rolled his eyes again and leaned back on the counter, feeling his strength drain a bit. Summoning the dead had always done that to him and he was used to it by now. His eyes narrowed and he looked at the skeleton. This particular one was his spy. Or well, something like that. Snitch. Whatever. He found out information from the Underworld, keeping himself and Nico on their toes so that they knew when to move, when to expect monsters, and such. Hades had never come for them personally, something that puzzled them both.

"Hey Henry. What have you got for me? You said there was a problem?"

Henry bowed low and Zach grimaced at the fact that he had no flesh. It had always been a point of frustration for him. It was sick, disgusting, and creepy to look at. Still, the skeletons were the ones who kept him from getting his head served up on a silver platter, so he wasn't about to complain.

"Yes, my lord."

When Henry didn't continue he rolled his eyes and said, "Yes, what?"

"Yes, there is a problem."

"I picked that up from when you came earlier when you said, 'There is a problem'. Now what _is _the problem?" He ground his teeth together. Gods, skeletons could be so . . . so . . . _stupid_. _Well_, Zach thought, rolling his eyes, _they don't exactly have brains_.

There was a scraping like bone was rubbing against bone that caused goosebumps to rise all over. Had Henry been laughing? . . . Gods, that was creepy.

"You see, Lord Zachariah, Lord Hades is sending ah - ah woman after you. She is to take you back to the Underworld."

Zach raised his eyebrows, a laugh bubbling on his lips. "A _woman_? To get us?" And then he burst into laughter. It wasn't as if she was going to succeed. Zach and Nico were experts at dropping off the map and skilled even more so in combat. This was _not _going to be a problem.

"It is Jordan Carter who is to come. I would not find this situation laughable, my lord."

Abruptly, Zach froze and his eyes opened wide. _Jordan Carter . . . Jordan . . . Jordan Carter . . . Carter . . . _He frowned. Nico had mentioned a Carter to him, years ago, but Jordan . . .

His frown deepened and he thought, _Is this the Carter Nico was talking about?_

". . . Meghan Carter will be . . ."

Having been ignoring the skeleton when Henry's voice finally cut through his worry, Zach's head snapped up and he cut off Henry with, "Meghan Carter?"

As the skeleton looked up at him Zach suppressed a shiver. His eye sockets were empty. He shook his head, banishing the thought, and listened to Henry's reply of, "Yes, my lord. Now, Jordan Carter is being . . ."

As the name was confirmed Zach moved over to a plush chair and slid in, suddenly light headed. Meghan Carter. That was the name. Not Jordan. Nico had mentioned it to him once, a long time ago. Seven years ago to be exact.

He closed his eyes and his chest began to ache. Gods, this would kill his brother. Absolutely kill him.

And then, sitting there in that chair, his eyes closed, he remembered something he wished he had forgotten, something that had changed everything for him . . .

"_Zachariah! Zach! What are you _doing_?"_

_Zach, currently locked in a fight with another demigod, ignored the voice screaming behind him. It was his brother, Nico di Angelo. He hadn't known he had a brother, hadn't ever been told, but the rage when he found out was overwhelming._

_Rage at Hades, rage at Nico, rage at himself, and rage on the other demigods for their pathetic squabble._

_And so here he was, fighting friend and foe, not caring who he was hurting, but wanting revenge. He was fighting because his father had been punishing him since Zach's birth, leaving him in the Underworld for years, locked out from the rest of the world. Nobody had known of his existence and he hadn't known of theirs. And now here he was, thrown into the war by his father, expected to put his life on the line to save them and their camp? Bullshit._

_New anger coursing through him, he swung his sword around his head, clashing it with the half-blood's. Fighting. Fighting he knew how to do. His father, Hades, had made sure of that, made sure he could be a killing machine because that was his purpose._

_Hades disgusted him. His father disgusted him._

"_Zachariah! You're fighting the -"_

_Zach ignored his brother again, moving through the crowds, slicing at everything in his path, shifting away from Nico. He cut through a half-blood's chest and kicked him out of the way. He moved out of the way of a monster's net coming at him and sliced through the beast too, not stopping to watch it explode in dust._

_The marvelous thing was that nobody noticed him. Nobody noticed as he killed monsters and demigods alike. Nobody cared that he was there. They were too absorbed in their own fights, their own lives._

_It was wonderful._

_It stayed like that. Zach met and attacked everything he could, killing many, harming more. Nico trailed him through the crowd, trying to stop him from fighting against his side, to doing the honorable thing and making sure the good guys won. But that wasn't going to happen. He had just entered the war and he could already see that. They were outnumbered and weak._

_But Zach didn't care about that. He couldn't give a shit who won. All he cared about was his revenge on his father in whatever way he could. It never occurred to him that doing so this way was pathetic and stupid. His father wouldn't mind that a few demigods and monsters had died. He wouldn't care one bit._

_He continued to kill everything in his path._

_It went on like that for even longer. He lost track of time, not caring, and focused only on what he was doing, every movement he was making, attempting to injure everyone and everything he could. He should have gotten tired, been passing out from the constant movement, but he wasn't. He was running on pure, unchecked, anger and hatred._

_He remembered looking over once, perhaps looking for something else to attack, and then his brother was in front of him, slamming his sword against someone else's as they took a shot at Zach._

_He quickly jumped out of the way and turned and fought a monster behind him, some kind of dog. A hell-hound maybe. He swerved as it bit at him and then sliced his sword through it. It exploded in green dust and he jerked away._

_And then Nico was in front of him, the girl he had been fighting vanishing in the fighting, running for dear life._

_"Zach, Zach, you have to stop . . ." Then wide eyes, panicked shaking, tears and Nico was screaming, "_She_ killed Lydia. She killed her, Zach! Murdered her!" He was shouting, fear, anger, hatred, and despair radiating from him. He practically vibrated and his eyes were pitch black as his nails dug into his arm hard enough to make him bleed through his shirt. Zach didn't know what he was talking about. "Lydia's dead. She's gone. _Carter killed her!_"_

_Before he had a chance to reply, the chance to ask what was going on, someone swung a club at him and he ducked, throwing his brother away from him as his anger renewed itself. He turned, the sword swinging through the air and crashing down against some hard, scaly flesh._

_Once the fight was over and he looked back, Nico had disappeared._

_He cursed. He should have -_

"My lord? My lord? Sir! Are you listening to me?"

Zach, caught up in the past, jerked up in his seat, wide eyed and alert. When he looked around and saw that the only other people in the room were his brother and Henry the Skeleton, he breathed out slowly and leaned back in the chair. His head pounded.

_That's the past. I'm not that person anymore. _

"Sorry, Henry. Kinda drifted off there . . . What were you saying?"

"I was saying that I have to go, my lord. I must be getting back."

Zach didn't even lift his head as he said, "You are dismissed." He waved him off with a hand and then closed his eyes tightly.

Gods, this was bad. His brother was, for all intents and purposes, insane, but he seemed to be getting better. He sulked, glared, and was generally depressed, but it was better than before. But if one of the Carter girls came after him?

Hades, this was bad.

He jumped out of the chair and began pacing, trying to work off the sudden panic. _Jordan Carter . . . Meghan Carter . . . Jordan, Meghan . . . Meghan, Jordan . . ._

He closed is eyes and sighed. He had found out later who Lydia was – His brother's oh-so-adored girlfriend, the love of his life. Zach had never understood how he had gone so insane just over her death, never understood why he had been so intent on killing and hurting the Carters.

He shook his head. It didn't matter. He didn't need to understand it. It wasn't significant anymore. It was done and over with, all in the past. Now the only thing that mattered was that one of the Carters was coming after them. Jordan Carter, not her sister, Meghan, who had driven Nico to the point of insanity, but she could be just as bad. Word on the street was that when a mad-man murders your entire family, revenge is imminent.

He breathed out. So maybe this was pretty bad, but . . . He took another breath and looked over at his brother who was snoring, sprawled out on the couch.

_We look nothing alike_, he thought.

It was true - where Nico had black hair, Zach had blond. Where Zach wore Express jeans, Nico wore old ripped ones. While Nico had black eyes, Zach had dark blue. They were completely different in every aspect.

Every aspect except lineage. Their father, while certainly not deserving of a Father of the Year mug, provided the one link to the only person he had left – his brother.

_Why did you save me? What are your motives?_

Sighing, Zach crossed the room, ready to wake his brother. He needed to update him on the identity of a certain assassin.


	4. Crossed Fates

**Revenge is Sweeter Than You Ever Were**

**CRISS-CROSSED FATES**

**...**

**CHAPTER THREE**

Jordan Carter swallowed and slowly opened her eyes. Her head throbbed and her stomach ached, like she had recently thrown up. Her bones hurt, like her entire body had been bruised and her energy drained. The pain was bad – though demigods were used to dealing with aches and pains, Jordan had been another in a long line of demigods in her family, so she rarely fought monsters. She had learned, of course – there wasn't much else to do for three months at Camp Half-Blood – but she had rarely used the magic weapon gifted to her by her mother, Aphrodite.

So, yeah, the pain was unfamiliar and unwelcome.

What was going on? Why was she so effed up? How had she gotten here? And the question of the hour – _where was she? _

Finding the strength to move, Jordan propped herself on her elbows and waited for the room to stop spinning before surveying her surroundings. She was laying on a course flower print bedspread, like the ones you would find in a cheap motel. The the wallpaper was peeling off in the corners and, upon further inspection, she discovered the bathroom door didn't lock and water pressure was nonexistent.

"Ugh . . ." she groaned, leaning over the plastic toilet seat, praying to the gods that she would just throw up already and get it all over with. "Hades, you bitch – _Hades_!" She jerked up, the memory of their conversation rushing back in overwhelming spurts that did nothing for her mind or stomach. "Oh, gods -" she got out before promptly empty her stomach of anything and everything that may have been in it.

"Uh . . ." Jordan had never been one for shadow-travel or even flying, but however Hades had transported her took discomfort to a whole new level.

Once she recovered, Jordan stood, rinsed her mouth out a few times, and walked around, looking for weapons, cash, clues to where she was . . . Anything to make sense of this situation. Wait - "Ohmygods!" She jerked, as if electrocuted, and pressed her hands all over her body. Ran to the mirror and pulled and pinched at her face. Saw how her breath frosted the glass. "I'm alive," she whispered. "_I'm fucking alive!_"

* * *

"Whattayawannawit'me . . ." Nico mumbled incoherently and rolled over on the couch, pressed his face into the crease, covering his head with one of the itchy pillows the hotel offered. Well, _hotel_ was a far-fetched term. Peeling flower print wallpaper, itchy towels, paper-thin walls, and a lack of water pressure pushed the roadside hotel into slum territory.

Zachariah sighed and shook his half-brother again. "Nico, wake up. Nico. Ugh. Ni-_co_. Get _up_!"

"Fine, fine . . ." he grumbled, rolling over and planting his booted feet on the floor. He ran a hand through his shaggy hair and yawned, recoiling slightly when it came back greasy. He should probably shower sometime soon and brush his teeth. Change clothes, even. "What do you want, Zach? I was sleeping."

Zach rolled his eyes and muttered, "I know. Again."

"When you rescue me from the Underworld while our evil father's henchmen are chasing us down, you can decide just how much sleep I deserve. For now, shut up," Nico lashed out, glared up at his half-brother, a womanizing vision with his blond hair, blue eyes, and infallible hygiene. He stalked across the room to the bathroom and splashed water over his face.

"Sorry," Zach said, "Henry just stopped by and -"

"Henry?"

"The skeleton guard who helped us escape from the Underworld. He -"

"Got it."

Zach ground his teeth together in frustration, then growled, "You could be less of an ass. You saved me, yeah, whatever. But you didn't do it for me – you have your own motives. I know that."

Nico turned and, propping a hip against the counter, folded his arms over his chest and stared his brother down. Zach puffed out his chest and cocked an eyebrow, challenging his brother to do something, anything. He wouldn't fight him exactly, but Zachariah wouldn't stand for being thought of as weaker or subordinate.

Nico broke first, changing stances and walking past his brother and back by the couch. "Why was Henry here?"

Zach sighed, not sure how to phrase his answer. He could never know how his brother would react to things. "Ah . . . Well . . . Henry says Dad is sending someone after us, someone to track us."

"He isn't coming himself?"

"I don't think he's allowed to. What Henry said . . . It gave me the impression Hades isn't able to do anything about us having escaped."

Nico frowned, familiar creases forming in his forehead. "Maybe . . . Do we know who he is sending?"

Zach swallowed, watching his brother's gears turning furiously, so much pressure and responsibility resting on his shoulders. "A girl. That's it. Nothing else."

Nico nodded, still deep in thought. "Okay . . . We'll need to change our looks for a little while. Being inconspicuous is key."

* * *

Three hours and two bottles of hair dye later, Nico was staring at himself in the mirror, not quite able to comprehend the sight before him, all the while wishing it wasn't necessary.

"I . . . have blond hair."

Zach laughed from behind him and teased him, clearly reveling in his brother's misfortune. "No, you don't. You have '_charming honey brown locks with blond highlights to accentuate your natural beauty._'"

Nico glared and moved away from the mirror, tugging on his still wet hair. "Well . . . Be inconspicuous. Mission accomplished. I couldn't look any more different."

Zach laughed and jumped up on the bathroom counter. "Well . . ." He leaned over the sink and peered into the mirror himself, inspecting his reflection. He had shaved a few inches off of his hair and dyed it a pitch black, topping off the look with a temporary tattoo that covered most of his neck.

"Can it, Zach."

"Will do."

Nico sighed, feeling his head begin to pound, from irritation or the dye, he wasn't sure. He took a seat on the raggedy couch cushion and closed his eyes, resting his elbows on his knees and dropping his head. He felt like he could sleep for a thousand years and still not be prepared to face another day. Sometimes he just got sick of living with himself and then the only thing keeping him going were problems like this – dead girlfriends and homicidal vengeance, crazy fathers and kidnapped brothers . . .

". . . Nico. Nico . . . Hey, buddy, wake up . . . You fell asleep."

Nico blinked awake, staring up at his brother, as unfamiliar as could be with his black hair and tattoo. "Hey," Zach said, his voice coming to Nico as if from far away. "I'm going to check us out and find a car. I sense some monsters sniffing around here and we need to get out. Stay here."

Nico nodded and fell back against the couch, dead to the world.

* * *

"Boulder City, Nevada? Sorry, did I hear that correctly? Nevada?" Jordan's wonder and confusion must have escaped her, because the mustachioed woman at the front desk stared at her, her already beady eyes becoming slits as she leaned forward and surveyed the twenty-nine year old in front of her.

"Yes . . . Don't you know where you are?"

"Uh . . ."

Suddenly the woman's face lit and she she whispered excitedly, but conspiratorially, "Are you involved in some sort of drug cartel, girl? Gangs? The Mob? Did you witness a murder and now the murderer is trying to dispose of you? Have you - "

Jordan's face was one of disbelief as the woman rattled on. She couldn't be serious, right? Her eyes slid from the woman's face to her desk. "_The Murder of Roger Ackroyd_," she read aloud to herself._ And so that explains it_, she thought. _Conclusion: Too many crime novels can make you nutters._

"Have you read it?" the woman asked excitedly, practically bouncing up and down in her seat, making the wood creak and groan. "It's the most amazing book -"

"No," Jordan said, cutting her off. "How much do I owe for the room?"

The woman's bushy eyebrows pulled together and she looked confused for a second. Then her vision seemed to clear and she said, "The room . . . Yes, the room . . . And you said your name was . . . ?"

"I didn't."

"Let me just . . ." she trailed off and them hobbled towards the back.

Jordan watched her go and adjusted the strap on her backpack. She had found the black Swiss bag in the corner of her room, packed and ready to go with cash and golden drachmas, ambrosia and nectar, a road map of the United States, and a note from Hades.

_'Use wisely. Complete your mission in a week's time and your life shall be restored – permanently. Fail and you will feel the power of my concentrated wrath.'_

_Well, buddy, I'll do my best, _she had thought._ Your threats don't exactly scare me – torture would, at most, break the monotony of Hell_.

Stashed under the bed of the hotel room Jordan had found a weapon – no, _her_ weapon. Jordan reached into the side pocket of her bag to feel the purple hairbrush that was stored there. A gift from her mother, Aphrodite, the hairbrush morphed into a silver bow and arrow at will. And – a slice of ingenuity from Hephaestus – a quiver wasn't necessary; once an arrow was shot another reappeared, and once that was shot, the first shot reappeared.

Along with her magic hairbrush, Jordan had a dagger hidden in a holster just underneath her blue shirt proclaiming how much fun she had had at _Waterland_. The shirt, a pair of jeans, and a pair of flip-flops had been in the bag.

She sighed and peered around her. The lobby was dingy with a flickering light overhead and an old mini television behind the front desk which was littered with Cheetos wrappers and old Coke cans. She leaned over the desk, wondering where the woman was and what she was doing. A list of the rented rooms and the names of the residents was right there . . . Casting a glance around to check she was alone, she muttered the names to herself. "Alberta Nicholson . . . Trisha Park, Madison Sinclaire . . . Zac -"

"Hey there."

"Ah!" Jordan jumped four feet in the air and spun around, her hand going immediately for her dagger as she faced off with the stranger who had interrupted her snooping.

"Sorry, sorry! I didn't mean to frighten you," the guy said, his voice soft and soothing. He was attractive, his combination of pitch black hair and bright blue eyes complimented by dark boot cut jeans, Chuck Taylor's, and a blue shirt. A tattoo covered the right side of his neck, though Jordan couldn't make out what it was.

"Well, you did," she hissed, bristling like a cat with its fur rubbed the wrong way.

"Sorry," he apologized again, a grin claiming his face as he took her in. "I don't always scare people, but when I do I prefer they be pretty girls like you."

Jordan stared, mouth agape, before scoffing. She crossed her arms over her chest and cocked an eyebrow. "Was that supposed to be a pick up line?"

He blushed and looked almost sheepish. She couldn't tell if he was genuinely embarrassed or if it was part of his ploy. "Kind of. Certainly not one of my best."

"Uh-huh."

Awkward silence reigned for a few seconds and Jordan tapped her fingers against her pant leg, wondering where the damn clerk was.

"What's your name?" the guy asked.

"Jor -" Be intelligent. "Jamie. My name is Jamie. Yours?"

"Thomas."

". . ."

". . ."

"Nice to meet you, Thomas."

"Likewise . . ."

_Could this be any more painful_, she thought. Luckily, it wasn't long before the woman came back and sat down at her desk, papers in hand. "Thank the gods," she muttered, walking over to the desk. "How much do I owe?"

"Oh, Miss Jordan, yes?"

Jordan froze, feeling Thomas' eyes bore into her back. She swallowed and shook it off. "Yes, how much do I owe?"

"Sixty for the two nights stay."

Jordan nodded and quickly paid her. "Do you know where I could find a car rental around here?"

Again, the woman looked confused, her forehead scrunching up. "But miss . . . isn't that your car out there?" Jordan followed the woman's finger and, leave it to Hades, outside sat a black BMW. She could only assume it was hers, though the keys must have been in the ignition, because she hadn't found any in her pack.

"Oh," she said, smiling. "Right. Have a nice day." And with that, she quickly excited the room, not sparing a glance for the man she'd just been called out in front of.

* * *

He watched the girl leave, eyes glued to her back, unable to move, wondering whether or not she had known who she was talking to. He was certain it had been her, the Carter girl sent to hunt he and his kin. She and her sister Meghan were spitting images of each other. How could she have found them? So soon . . . Too soon . . .

He was still staring at the spot where Jordan's car had been parked, gears turning, when the manager behind the front desk asked cautiously, "May I help you?"

"Yes, I would like to check out."

"Name and room number."

"Thomas, room 66."

* * *

Jordan practically ran out of the motel to the black BMW. She stopped by the driver's side door and peered in, praying to God that the woman was right and that she wasn't breaking into a stranger's car. She hadn't found keys in the backpack and there weren't any that she could see . . .

Wincing, she tested the door, feeling the sweet rush of relief when it opened without car alarms blaring. Jumping up inside, she dropped her bag in the passenger seat and looked around for keys. She had never hot wired a car, but if there was any situation in which she would condone doing so, this was it. Thankfully, a set were found in the cup holder and she started the engine.

_Come on, Jordan. You have a car, money, clean clothes, liveliness . . . You just need to find Hades' sons, kill and/or return them to him, and you're free . . . But where to begin her search?_

She pulled out of the parking lot and drove a few miles before parking and finding the road map Hades had given her. Three points were marked with red Xs – Colorado Springs, CO., Chicago, IL., and Camp Half-Blood.

"Fuck," she cursed quietly. She leaned back against her seat, fists clenched, then unclenched as she felt the overwhelming urge to beat on her steering wheel. Memories of the worst kind – of her death – overwhelmed her mind and she tried in vain to block them. _This is all such bullshit! What game is he playing?_

"How clever of you, Hades, sending me to reclaim my life where it was first lost!"

* * *

A/N: Well, hello there. Long time no see. I hope this is adequate - I wasn't able to find a Beta.

OH. All of the previous chapters have been updated and improved. I would suggest going back and reading through them. A few things have been changed and I am happier with the content.

- Des


	5. Of Cold Killers and Lost Battles

**Revenge Is Sweeter Than You Ever Were**

**OF COLD KILLERS AND LOST BATTLES**

…

**CHAPTER FOUR**

"Where to, brother?" Zachariah asked, twisting the keys in the ignition of his rented Volvo. "Las Vegas? San Francisco? Tampa Bay?" he laughed, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Party till death?"

Chuckling at his own joke, Zach adjusted his seat and threw his wallet, filled with receipts and a few dollar bills, into the cup holder. Over the last five days of his limited freedom, Zach had only seen Los Angeles, San Diego, and—briefly—Las Vegas on his way to the outskirts of this dust bowl of a town with the nerve to call itself a city. Though the Internet and his brother had brought him up to speed with most things American, a road tip across the country was what he needed.

"Nico?" He finally glanced over at his brooding brother, doubled over in the passenger seat, head in hands. Zach frowned and laid a hand on his brother's back. "What's wrong?"

It had only been an hour since he had awoken his brother from his unexpected nap in the hotel room, ran into his assassin herself, fled the hotel, and bought a rental car. Nico still hadn't seemed to recover from whatever it was that ailed him.

"Uh . . ." Nico shook his head and leaned back against the seat, running a hand over his face and into his newly dyed hair. "I need to send a message." He shoved open the Volvo's door and paused, one foot on the pavement. "Stay here."

Zach rolled his eyes and obliged, turning on the radio and nodding his head to the beat. He watched his brother walk further and further away from the car, searching around the rental shop for a hose to create a mist. Iris Messaging was the only safe way for a demigod to contact others, Zach knew.

A few minutes later Nico came back, shaking his head. He slid into the car and said, "No luck. We need to find a gas station or a car wash. We can make some mist."

Zach nodded and pulled out of the parking lot. "Who are you trying to contact?"

"Annabeth Chase."

"_What?"_ Zach whipped his head around so quickly he got whiplash. "Annabeth Chase? The blonde girl who is dating Percy Jackson, that guy – if you don't _remember_ – who tried to _kill you?_"

Nico nodded and stared out the window, stubbornly refusing to look his brother in the eye. "I need to find out where Percy is -"

"No -" Zach slammed on the brakes, tossing them both forward, and grabbed his brother by the neck, forcing him to look into his eyes. "We are not going looking after this guy! He tried to kill you and I _just_ found you. You're not dying on me."

"It's not anything I don't deserve!"

"What do you mean?"

"The things I've done –"

"I don't care what you have done in the past. Fuck, I don't care what _I've_ done in the past. None of it matters. That's done. Our actions then . . . _They aren't important_."

Nico shoved Zachariah back, eyes flashing as he nearly snarled at him. "You can't just forget everything you've done. The number of people you've killed – the number of people _I've_ killed - in cold blood. Your actions don't go away just because you say so."

"I -"

A car honked behind them, the driver flipping Zach the bird and cutting him short. He slammed down on the gas pedal and shot off down the road, blinded by rage. _I'm different now, _he thought._ I made mistakes and that was it._

"We are not looking for Percy Jackson."

"You don't call the shots here, Zachariah. I do."

"Fuck. You."

"Just drive."

* * *

The drive was long and hard, Jordan's exhaustion only doubled by the endless monotony of her own thoughts. There was nothing she wanted to dwell on, but even her best efforts couldn't keep her musings away.

Her life pre-Underworld hadn't been the best. She had lived with her parents, two brothers, and sister until she and Meghan had been sent away to camp at ten years old. Her father had known that she and Meghan were demigods and their trip to camp had been uneventful. They had stayed there every summer and enrolled in public school for the rest of the year, never having been attacked by a monster outside of camp. Then the war started and, like for so many others, it was no longer safe to go home.

She and Meghan were claimed by Aphrodite the day the camp was first attacked, in the chaos of the first wave of assaults. Meghan had almost died from a spear thrown through her chest, close to her heart. That night Jordan had prayed to her mom for the strength to protect her sister and her prayers had been answered by way of a silly hairbrush. It wasn't until a particularly nasty attack that she had discovered what it really was.

Following that, tragedy began to strike at every turn. Many of Jordan's friends were killed in the final battle and soon after Meghan took out Lydia Garfield, Nico-normal-turned-Nico-sociopath had began hunting anyone and everyone connected to Meghan up until Jordan herself.

She had lived in war and died in war.

She could only hope she would not be reborn in it.

* * *

"Pull over here," Nico commanded, eyes steely and voice even. He was the brooding grudge type, while Zach was the "heat of the moment" one. Zach's anger had faded as quickly as it had come and he had no problem listening to his brother. He pulled the car over and drove up and into the Shell gas station.

"Find your mist or whatever, bro," Zach said, jumping out of the vehicle and stretching. "I want to find some food and -" Zach trailed off, his arms falling slowly to his sides, his eyes glued on something in the distance.

"What?" Nico asked, spinning around and trying to pin down what Zach was staring at. "What?" he snapped, his irritation getting the best of him. All he had seen was a black BMW pulling into the parking lot.

"Uh," Zach shook his head, trying to look nonchalant. "Nothing. It's nothing. Go find your mist. Send your message."

"Get me a Coke," Nico said, "And hand me the keys. There is a do-it-yourself car wash just over there."

Zach tossed him the key ring. "You that worried about how your ride looks?" he asked jokingly.

"Mist," Nico replied, not looking up as he walked back to the car and slid into the driver's side seat. He pulled the Volvo into the car wash and inserted a few coins into the slot that turned on the hose. His hands felt clammy and his stomach was twisted up in knots.

He hadn't spoken to Percy or Annabeth since it had become apparent who had murdered the Carter family in cold blooded revenge. There wasn't exactly any disputing who had done it – Nico had publicly cut down Jordan Carter in a game of Capture the Flag and the rest of the puzzle pieces soon fell into place. Though nobody had been around at that particular time, Jordan's mutilated body had fallen into the river, its currents carrying her blood down past the other campers. He hadn't had time to run before a crowd had formed and weapons were drawn.

Nico had blanked after that, not sure what happened until Percy was swinging a sword and he was running, trying to make it to a safe place where he could shadow away. He'd succeeded, only to spend the next few months tracking down another Carter. The last one, actually, and the most important – _Meghan_.

Needless to say, he was nervous as hell now. Annabeth wasn't a person he was looking forward to speaking with, but he needed to find Percy and knew Percy himself wouldn't speak to him, especially when Iris Messages could be easily ignored.

His hands – hell, his entire body – were shaking when he covered half of the hose and shorted it out to create a fine mist, a rainbow soon appearing. Swallowing, he reached into his pocket and fingered a gold drachma.

_Now or never, Nico. Now or never. _

He threw the drachma into the mist, anxiously watching as it disappeared. _Oh Iris, goddess of the Rainbow, accept my offering, _he thought deeply, squeezing his eyes shut tight. He didn't have enough confidence to voice the words.

_Annabeth Chase, Annabeth Chase, Annabeth Chase . . . _

"Nico?"

* * *

It was times like this that Zachariah wished he had his own weapon. Upon his liberation from the Underworld Nico had given him a dagger, but that was it. It wasn't even special, just something Nico had carried around with him – as if he'd ever need it, what with that Stygian blade of his.

And now here Zach was, staring down his own assassin from behind a gas pump. This Jordan Carter girl looked normal enough as she filled up her BMW, but Zach knew better. She must be some cold-blooded killer because Hades would only ever send the best of the best.

She hummed as she filled up her gas tank, some cheesy tune he didn't recognize. She wore a Swiss backpack, blue t-shirt, and jeans, just as he remembered from the hotel lobby.

_I need to take her out_, he thought. Dispose of her now so she wasn't an addition to his family's growing list of problems. Determined, he raised his dagger, poised to jump out and attack when she turned.

And looked him dead in the eye.

_She really is pretty_, was Zachariah's first thought. Her eyes were an alluring cognac brown, resembling brandy with golden red swirls that were practically hypnotic. Her hair was a pretty strawberry-blonde with brown highlights to match her eyes, her bone structure defined without being hard and unappealing. Jordan's body was exquisite, all luscious curves and lean muscle.

"Thomas?" she asked, her voice full of confusion and mistrust. "What are you –"

Zachariah shot away, hiding as best he could behind the gas pump, shoving the knife behind his back and trying to decide what to do. He didn't reach any decisions however – Jordan was already in front of him, her eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

"Are you okay?"

"Uh . . ." Zach diverted his eyes, pressed as far back as possible against the pump, not sure if she would recognize him for who he truly was, dyed hair and tattoo or not. She hadn't known who he was in the hotel room but -

"Are you –" Suddenly his shirt was fisted up in her hand, her other hand grasping his jaw and forcing his eyes to meet hers. "Nico di Angelo?"

"Not exactly," he said, and then he shoved her away, throwing her back against the BMW and lunging for her midsection with his blade . . . just as a hell-hound landed with a sound _thump_ behind them.

* * *

"Annabeth."

"Oh my gods . . . _Nico_," Annabeth whispered, disbelief coloring her face. "What are you . . . ? Why are you . . . ?"

"Annabeth . . . I need your help."

Annabeth, her hand nestled in her golden curls, whispered, "Nico . . . _No_. I can't help you. I'm practically committing acts of treason just _speaking_ to you."

"I know, Annabeth. And – and I swear I will turn myself in as soon as you help me, but I can't right now. I'm in a rough place and –" He trailed off as he noticed just how her eyes weren't meeting his and the way her hands were wringing together, fear and anxiety apparent.

"You don't trust me, do you?" he asked. She was quiet a moment, not daring to reply, and he chuckled, his entire body shaking. "Why would you, though? I'm _fucking insane_, remember?"

And then it is quiet, the silence filled with all they want to say to each other, but can't. She is the first to break the silence, proving to him how much better she is.

"You laughed," she finally whispered, swallowing quietly after having done so.

"What?"

"You laughed after you killed her. We all came running and you . . . you were there with blood dripping off of your sword onto her face . . . _her_ blood . . . and you were _laughing_."

He didn't reply – couldn't. What was he supposed to say to that?

She sighed, still not meeting his eyes, still wringing her hands. "What do you need?"

"I need to see Percy. Do you know where he is?"

"He left a few days ago for the Garden of the Gods with Grover. Why?"

"I can't tell you that – not yet . . . He'll be safe, Annabeth. I'm not going to do anything to him. I'm doing the right thing this time, Annabeth."

"You need help, Nico," she whispered, finally meeting his eyes. "Professional help. Or, at least, _please_ – talk to someone, anyone."

"Thank you for your help, Annabeth. I –"

"_Hell-hounds!" _

"I have to go!" Nico slashed through the message with his blade, then turned to face the hell-hound barreling towards him.

* * *

"Ah!" Jordan screamed as the blade sliced through her shirt and dealt a glancing blow on her hip. On impulse she twisted her foot around Nico's ankle and shoved him to the ground, then darted away as the hell-hound, its tiny brain unable to process what it was running at, slammed into the car behind her and kept going.

"Oh, thank the gods," she muttered, wincing as her car was totaled. _I'm alive, I'm alive, I'm alive_ – _oh, get a grip, Jordan. _She jumped up, bow and arrow in hand, staring down the shaft towards the fallen hell-hound. It shuddered and shifted, rising slowly to its paws and growling, staring straight at her.

_Breath, Jordan. You haven't done this in a while. _

The arrow was shot swiftly, and then, not even knowing whether the other had landed, she shot a new arrow at Nico who was still lying on his back, moaning from the hell-hound nearly crushing his chest.

And that arrow saw miss, landing just a centimeter from his head. The near-death experience must have jarred him into action, because the next minute he was on his feet, dagger in hand.

"We might wanna kill that hell-hound first!" Jordan shouted, her aim unwavering, no matter how hard she shook. "Then we'll figure out just how I'm gonna kill you."

"Not a chance, Carter. That hell-hound is your problem."

"Aw, poor Nico. We both know that isn't true. And – Oh, hell!" The hound charged her, claws out, leaping over the beaten BMW, drool dripping from its mouth.

She shot at it, landing an arrow square in its heart. As it exploded into green dust, Nico lunged at her, stabbing at her chest as she tried to dart away. Nico grabbed at her, twisting her wrist painfully so she cried out. She dropped the bow, pulled out her own dagger, and shot back into his arms, holding her blade to his neck with his own resting just above her heart.

"Think very carefully about what you do next, Jordan. We don't want any . . . _accidents_, do we?" a new voice asked, quiet and deadly. Jordan swallowed, not wanting to tear her eyes away from Nico to look at this new person, but needing to anyway. He was blond with black eyes, a short sword held just out of her view.

_Zachariah, _she thought. _It must be. _She looked behind the blond terror and found green dust still settling on the ground, the only proof another hound had been in the area. Where she and Nico had destroyed half of the gas station with one hound, Zachariah had taken one down quickly and efficiently.

_You need to get out of here. You can't take them like this, you know that. Run. Live to fight another day and all that._

"Sorry boys," she said, "but I've gotta split." Grinning, praying it worked, she threw Nico back and hit the ground. She combat-rolled towards their Volvo before jumping to her feet and sprinting, her slight frame being enough to keep her out of reach. She jumped into the front seat, hoping the keys were there as she thought, and hit the accelerator, driving in reverse as quickly as possible until she hit the highway.

"Well done, Jordan," she muttered to herself. "Just fan-fucking-tastic."

* * *

**A/N:** Hello. Hope you enjoyed this. I did not have a Beta. I apologize for any mistakes you may find. I am looking for a Beta at the moment, so if you're interested, message me.

I am also going to be participating in August!NaNo, so updates will be few and far between during August, I suspect. I will still try to update at least once during the month, but if you have ever participated in NaNo, you know how tough it is.

Review, please.


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